


Human

by marvelous_hale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Blood, Breaking Up & Making Up, Electrocution, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Torture, Tortured Derek, fluff at the end, past Derek/Kate mentioned, poor communication skills, this is a lot of tags but i didn't want anyone to get triggered so yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelous_hale/pseuds/marvelous_hale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek sees Stiles with another guy and misinterprets their intentions completely; an argument ensues. They would both like to make up, but a new threat has arrived to Beacon Hills and may make it impossible for them to see each other again. Will they get the opportunity to say 'I'm sorry' or will the consequences of their actions be more severe than that expected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here so I really hope you all enjoy it. I'm pretty nervous about posting this and I hope that Stiles and Derek aren't out of character.  
> I hope that you'll enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it! :)

It hurt Derek, but it needed to be done nonetheless. Sighing, he pressed the power button on his phone and slid it across the table, as far away from him as possible, and slumped on the pillows on his bed. Maybe he shouldn't have turned it off after all? What if something really important happened and Stiles needed him?

_No_ , he thought to himself.  _Stiles doesn't need you...never needed you. You saw it for yourself, you naive idiot._

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The images of Stiles and Danny together would probably plague his mind for the rest of his life, but for now he needed to stay calm. Stiles was important, but this new, vicious group  o f hunters was even more  so – they were going to hurt the pack, they were going to hurt  _everyone_ .

The Vlados, they called themselves. Americans with Russian heritage and even more worryingly Russian weapons, laced with wolfsbane and God knows what other deathly substances; they travelled  through America, searching for supernatural creatures....no, searching for  _trophies_ , killing them and moving onto the next fascinating problem. Even the Argents, with their little code of conduct and misguided moral principles, were a lesser opponent than the Vlados. Derek heard rumours when he was younger, about how they wore jackets made of wolf-ski n , carried blades covered in  k anima venom, and had their homes decorated with the various bits and pieces of their victims. They didn't even try to justify their cruelty, not like Kate or Gerard; they simply enjoyed the rush of adrenaline brought on by the kill, the feeling of weapon s weighing heavily in their hands and the sound of howling –  the sound of death.

That was the  _real_ problem, not the fact that Stiles and Danny were all over each other in a  café , that Derek just happened to be passing earlier that day. He tried to come up with various explanations for what he saw, for their interlaced fingers, the splash of cream put on Stiles' nose by Danny, that spark of joy in Stiles' eye as he looked at the other kid, but he couldn't. If they  had been studying, they wouldn't  be having so much fun, if it  had been just a friendly meeting, Scott and the others would  have  be en with them, if Stiles  had decided to move on from Derek...well, he'd just have to turn off his phone and suck it up. It wasn't even that Derek didn't want to see Stiles any more or speak to him. He was just scared of the onslaught of texts sent by Stiles after he refused to pick up, because he knew that one of them read 'We're done.' and he was still scared of  admitting that their break-up was official. 

* * *

He didn't even know how much time passed, but all of a sudden the door of the loft opened and Derek was immediately pulled out of his dark thoughts. He was up on his feet within a moment, preparing for a fight, baring his fangs and praying that whoever came for him, would at least leave the others' alone.

The assaulter turned out to be...Stiles. A part of Derek was happy to see him, as always, but another part immediately reminded him that Stiles probably just came there to pick up his things and say 'goodbye' for good. 

Derek sat back down on the bed and motioned for the teen to come in, there was no point dragging this out. Before he even noticed, Stiles was in his lap, his arms wrapped around Derek's neck, holding him close and whispering 'thank God' repeatedly. Derek was confused, so terribly confused that he couldn't even muster the strength to return the hug.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he asked instead, mentally punching himself for the harsh welcome. Maybe at least they'd still be friends, if Derek played this right?

'W-what?' Stiles replied, confusion painted all over his face. He was pale and maybe Derek wa s making this up, but he also seemed to be shaking slightly. His heartbeat was definitely elevated but before Derek could look over Stiles' body to check for injuries, the teenager spoke. 'Why haven't you been answering my calls and texts?' his voice was trembling. 'We thought you were dead Derek. Dead!  At first I thought maybe you were just annoyed by my texts, and why would you  be anyway? But, it doesn't...Then Scott called you and your phone was off! With those nutcases running around with assault rifles and fire throwers and...fire throwers Derek!...I thought...I thought...' His breathing was labo u red and he was clutching the back of Derek's black  Henley like a lifeline. The werewolf held him close for a second but then remembered what happened earlier and let go of the skinny body, setting it down on the bed next to him.

'Why do you care anyway?' he asked, his voice tinged with resignation and regret. Instead of answering, Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek, getting more confused by the second. The werewolf continued. 'I mean...I'm not useful any more, like I was...before. I know that much. Scott's the alpha now, so what does it matter to you if I'm dead or not?' His voice almost broke on the last word, but thankfully he managed to hold it togethe r .  _He doesn't need you Derek. He never did and never will need you ever again._

Stiles was actively staring at the beta, his mouth wide open and his eyes searching Derek's face for answers. Where did this sudden change of mood came from? Just last night Stiles managed to talk him into cuddles on the sofa and a Marvel marathon, managed to make the werewolf open up and now _this_ was happening?

'I need you Derek. I...you know that, right?' Stiles whispered, his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for the answer. What if Derek...? No, he wouldn't break up with him like that. Not now.

'Do I?' Derek was sick of Stiles' games. He was always so honest, so Derek couldn't understand why he was playing this game with him now. Sure, Derek was good in bed, but Stiles wouldn't deceive him just for the sake of having a fuck-buddy. 'You might as well just say it Stiles. Please, just say it...'

'Say what?' Stiles inquired. 'That you need to smile more? That it's really weird that you don't like Captain America? That I...that I _love_ you?' There was desperation in his voice, desperation for an explanation.

'But you don't!' Derek yelled, throwing a pillow across the room and knocking a glass off the table. 'I saw you with Danny, ok? I tried to understand this, I really did but...you even fucking _smelled_ happy Stiles!' once he started he knew it wouldn't be easy to stop the monologue. 'I...I know I'm not the best partner out there but you still...'Derek needed to take a deep breath to not fall apart right there and then. 'But you could have told me sooner. I'd have taken it better then...I'm...'

'Fuck, Derek,' Stiles whispered. His face expressed a mixture of emotions, anxiety, disbelief...anger?

'I'm sorry about making a scene. I understand.' Derek spit out; he was upset, obviously, but he cared deeply about Stiles and wanted to make it as easy on him as possible. And he really did understand: he was grumpy, scared of affection and overprotective – not exactly the best boyfriend material.

Now Derek could see that Stiles was definitely shaking. He was still breathing loudly, only that now his hands were curled into fists at his sides, his nostrils flaring. _Well, there goes making it easy on him_ , Derek thought. He put a gentle hand on Stiles' shoulder, out of habit more than anything else, only to have it shaken off. Stiles was on his feet now, at first headed towards the door, then pacing in circles around the spacious loft.

'I held you up in 8ft of water for _hours_ when you were paralysed. I run around the woods with you instead of having an actual life, when I stay over at night I always hold you so that your fucking nightmares go away and you're....just like that you think I'd cheat on you?'

The wheels in Derek's head were spinning. Stiles made a fair point, of course, he always made good points. But it all made sense, didn't it? Classmates don't spray cream on each others' faces, boyfriends do. And then there was the goddamn _smell_.

'People's feelings change, Stiles,' Derek murmured. Kate's changed, Jennifer's changed. Stiles' apparently did as well. 'And it's... Friends save each other too. And colleagues?' He didn't even know how he came up with the latter one, but the damage was already done.

'Colleagues? Friends? Why didn't you just _ask_ me what I was doing with Danny?' A nervous pause. Derek was scared of speaking, afraid that he may set Stiles off again. Apparently the boy was scared too and he reeked of anxiety. After a long while, it finally happened. 'So are we breaking up? You don't trust me and _apparently_ I don't love you any more, so what's the point?'

Derek had learnt to withstand loss. He knew how to deal with emotional distress, even more so with physical pain, but this was unbearable on every level. He stood in front of Stiles, praying to whatever God may listen that this isn't it, that this isn't the end. He wanted to apologise for jumping to conclusions, only now, that he saw how much it hurt Stiles, he realized that he should have asked for an explanation instead. He desperately wanted to do it now, but his vocal chords disagreed. Every part of his body disagreed, even his wolf. It just wanted to curl in a ball and fall asleep forever. Or to run, faster than ever, to a save haven, away from all the things that were hurting him now.

'I see,' Stiles whispered. Tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes. 'Is that all you have to say to me? Sourwo-' His face twisted in an expression of hurt, as he remembered all the good times when he used the endearment, when it made Derek smile.

The werewolf just stretched his hand out towards Stiles, without even thinking about it, but it was ignored. The boy looked like he may crumple to the ground at any moment, and even Derek's delicate touch could be his breaking-point. Now the tears were flowing freely down his pale cheeks, his lower lip trembling.

'Stiles,' Derek whispered longingly, wanting nothing but to apologise, to hold, to comfort him, but he knew he accidentally gave up that right.

'I've never been in a relationship before, you know that,' Stiles started, his voice small and trembling. 'Danny was though, so we...I just wanted to do right by you and I...Fuck, I'm such an idiot...Cause Scott isn't into guys and I just...well, stupidly thought that maybe Danny could help me out cause...maybe it's different with guys, I wouldn't know...Valentine's Day is soon so...'

At this point Derek couldn't help crying either. This was _so_ like Stiles, to do his research properly, not even for his own benefit but for the sake of making someone else feel loved, for the sake of making them smile. It was ridiculous, of course it was, because Derek loved Stiles for being Stiles and no one else, but the boy never felt like he was enough, so it only made sense he'd look for advice. The hand-holding, the cream it all made sense now. Stiles was _practising_ just for Derek's sake and of course he had to blow it, didn't he? But it wasn't his pain that worried him most, no. It was how _Stiles_ was feeling, standing in the middle of the huge loft with his head hung low, crying and looking so very lost.

'I need a break Derek. I know things haven't worked out for you with other people but...I need a break. And maybe you need a break too. Because...trust...it, it takes time.'

And with those words, Stiles ran out of the loft. Derek strained his ears and listened to the sound of his steps on the stairs. After a few very long seconds he heard the engine of Stiles' beloved Jeep start up, but the car didn't seem to be moving, the familiar sound of the worn tires on the ground was absent. Instead, Derek heart Stiles crying, no longer quietly as he did in the apartment, but sobbing his poor, betrayed soul out. It took all of his will-power to not run downstairs, wrap Stiles in blankets and put on Captain America for Stiles' enjoyment. But he knew he would just make it worse. He always made everything worse.

* * *

 

 

The first week was the hardest.

Derek turned his phone back on the day after his argument with Stiles, hoping in vain that the teenager would want to contact him, for whatever reason. Nothing new came through and instead Derek found himself on his sofa, reading the texts that Stiles sent him on the day of their parting. The first one was nothing special, just a 'Der, pick up, I'm worried' but as he kept on reading through almost a dozen messages, they were getting more and more desperate. How he could ever think that Stiles – caring, sweet, protective – Stiles would ever go behind his back, was beyond his comprehension. He panicked, that much was clear, but if only he had played it out differently on that day, Stiles would probably be curled up at his side right now. But he wasn't.

At some point, Derek wasn't sure which day it was any more, Scott came to the loft. Derek expected him to be angry, but Scott was Scott and he was simply worried about them both, more than anything. For once, Derek craved company, especially Scott's, who seemed to be Derek's only remaining link to Stiles. It turned out that the alpha was there to collect Stiles' things. After he left, the loft felt empty: the sofa looked really boring without the bright red Angry Birds pillow, the TV he bought so that he and Stiles could have movie-nights became completely redundant without the Marvel DVDs laying all over the place, and even the kitchen felt wrong without the blue, white and red Captain America mug and cutlery.

Derek's fridge was still full of Stiles' favourite snacks, and all the vegetables that Stiles made him eat for dinner every now and then because ' _you may be a werewolf, but you'd better be a healthy one'._ Derek lost his appetite completely though. He couldn't bring himself to touch the things that in his mind were Stiles', silently hoping that their rightful owner would eat them himself at some point, and the vegetables didn't taste as good without the excited chatter of Derek's boyfriend in the background.

* * *

 

The second week was even worse.

He learnt that the Vlados went after the pack when they were hanging out on the edge of the Preserve the previous evening. They managed to get away untouched, and even injured one of the hunters and put him out of commission, but now that the murderers knew who the supernaturals were, they wouldn't leave them in peace for long. Derek worried, but going to see the pack, offering support felt completely inappropriate. Seeing the pack meant seeing Stiles, but there was no way on Earth that he could walk into his life, only to leave after getting a green light from the others'.

Derek tried to read, he even ordered the Harry Potter series on Amazon to keep himself busy. The books were good, but every few chapter something would come up – something that Stiles always used to tell him or joke about – and the terrible gut-wrenching feeling would come up and render Derek incapable of functioning properly, let alone reading.

At the end of the week, after he spent the whole evening wondering if Stiles was fine, the nightmares returned.

* * *

 

 

The third week was actually quite good.

Derek stopped eating altogether, everything he put in his mouth tasted foul. He couldn't sleep either, because every time he closed his eyes, he smelt smoke, heard the screams, saw his family members chained up and begging him for mercy, for rescue from the flames. Now that Stiles was gone, there were no hands to pull him out of the burning building and back into thei...no, his bed, and he woke up every night, screaming himself hoarse and going out for a run after his throat finally refused to cooperate.

But he liked it. The pain was good. He knew pain, and how to use it to his advantage. The screams could at least block out Stiles' words, that kept playing over and over again in his head. The third week was good.

He even went grocery shopping. All the food in the fridge went bad, so Derek decided to throw it away before it started smelling of decay. Still, his subconsciousness decided to torture him some more and send him shopping, because what if Stiles needed to be at the loft for some reason and got hungry? Derek needed to stock up, just in case. After all, Stiles deserved all the best things, not just anything.

His body was present as he was pushing the cart amongst the tall shelves and grabbing all sorts of products, but his mind was back at his loft, having _that_ conversation with Stiles over again, imagining all the different ways it could have gone. All of a sudden, the cart stopped moving, Derek heard an 'ouch' and a loud bang, as a jar of mayonnaise feel to the tiled floor and shattered to pieces, splaying its contents in all directions.

Derek looked up from his cart to see Stiles, standing in front of him, nervously looking between Derek and the broken jar on the floor.

'Someone will have to clean this up...' Stiles murmured.

'I'm sorry,' Derek whispered. 'I'm so sorry, Stiles.'

'Don't worry, buddy!' Stiles replied. His voice sounded _almost_ cheerful, but Derek knew that he was putting on a show. The dark bags under his eyes were clearly visible – apparently Derek wasn't the only one who missed sleep, and who skipped a few meals. 'You know, this stuff keeps happening here, so don't worry about this,' Stiles pointed at the mayo. 'Someone will clean it up, I'll go and tell them.'

Of course Stiles meant the accident, not what happened between them. The tiny spark of hope that lit in Derek's mind as soon as he heard 'don't worry' exploded into a raging fire inside his head, making it hard to breathe and turning his very core into ashes.

'But Stiles...' Derek started, right after Stiles turned his back to him.

'Excuse me mister, I don't really have time to chat.'

Then he was gone.

 

Until it turned out that the car that separated Derek's Honda and the Sheriff's vehicle in the parking lot was gone, and as Derek was packing the bags into the back, he encountered Stiles again, this time with a very angry-looking Sheriff by his side. The boy was pretending that he couldn't see Derek. It hurt more than anything else could. He'd very much rather be yelled at that not noticed at all by the one person about whose attention he actually cared.

'Stiles!' Derek said loudly, hoping to attract the boy's attention.

'No' was the only reply he received and before the werewolf managed to react, Stiles was already sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of his Dad's car, fastening the seat-belt.

Derek made a step towards the car. He might not get a chance like this again, so he had to either get Stiles to speak to him now or they would probably be left in this limbo forever. As soon as he made a step towards the Sheriff's vehicle, something, or rather someone smashed into him and pinned him to the mask of his own car. It was the Sheriff. Derek had been interrogated by him a few times when he was a murder suspect, but not once did the Sheriff lose his cool. Now though, his fingers were clasped on Derek's throat and he did use his training well to ensure that Derek didn't get much wiggle room. The werewolf could easily throw him off if he tried, but it was Stiles' dad and he'd done enough damage already.

'Listen to me, Hale. My son dating a shady, older guy like you, I can stand, if only it makes him happy. But anyone, _anyone_ who hurts him as much as you did, had better stay away. For good. _Understood?'_

Derek nodded. He didn't even try to ease himself out of the older man's grasp. Fury was painted all over his face, and if letting it out would make anyone feel better, so be it. For a moment Derek wished that it all just ended, here and now. A few seconds too long, a slightly tighter grasp on his windpipe and maybe he'd be free. Once and for all.

Suddenly, the rough hands were gone. He was still laying splayed on the mask of the car, when he saw Stiles holding his father back. He couldn't hear what he was saying to him, but he looked absolutely terrified.

Stiles held his father by his arm and led him back towards their car. Before the Sheriff got in however, he turned around one last time and looked Derek straight in the eye.

'I knew your parents, _Derek._ How such good people raised _something_ like you is beyond me.'

Derek heard a muffled 'DAD!' coming from the car, but he didn't have much time to ponder over it. His knees hurt; seconds later he realised it was because they hit the concrete of the parking lot, the Sheriff's remark hitting him harder that he thought it would.

It took Derek a moment to compose himself. Any time his family was mentioned he smelt fire, he saw dead bodies, he heard the screams. And now he's let them down. The Sheriff was right, if his parents could see him right now...

But that was in the past. Derek needed to get up, the problem of the hunters was still to be solved and the longer he spent here, rather than anywhere else – trying to figure out a solution – the more danger the pack was in.

Derek sighed and made an attempt to pick himself up from the warm concrete, when something hit him hard on the back of the head. The last thing he heard before he passed out were some incomprehensible words in Russian.

Maybe the third week wasn't so good after all.

* * *

His head hurt. In fact, every single part of his abused body hurt as far as he could tell. He opened his eyes but all he could see was pitch-black darkness. They must have put a blindfold on his eyes, typical. His attempts at moving failed as well but he was surprised to not hear the sound of chains. Maybe he was paralysed? Upon trying to cough he heard nothing as well, which was more worrying than the perspective of having to endure the kanima's venom for a few hours. What on Earth was going on?

He called out, but once again, the only reply he got was dead silence.

Then it hit him.

The familiar feeling of electricity running through his body. Far too much to allow him to shift and fight off whatever was holding him down, but not yet enough to kill. Derek screamed. At least now he knew that he still had a voice because after some time his throat felt raw, like someone had rubbed it with sandpaper. Why couldn't he hear then?

He couldn't tell exactly for how long this was going on, but by the time it ended he was wishing he was dead. He'd been subjected to torture before, but not like this. Not when he couldn't see, couldn't hear, not when the one and only thing he was allowed to focus on was the pain.

The Vlados, it must have been the Vlados, they would know what they were doing. Derek suspected that they wouldn't just want to have their fun with him, they would want information about the rest of the pack.

_That_ , Derek wouldn't give them. Couldn't give them. It was his last conscious thought.

* * *

_There was fire, a lot of fire. He wasn't just seeing it, but also smelling, hearing, feeling it. He was wired to the spot in the ground where he was standing. He heard his little cousin – Bobby – screaming his name, begging him to get him out, but he couldn't move. He started screaming too, pleading with whatever force was preventing him from moving to let him go. Laura was screaming with him...no, at him. It was his fault, his fault, his fault, he knew it, why was she reminding him? But no! Laura was dead. DEAD. Killed by Peter. Because of him it was all his fault. Then Laura was gone, the only thing left beside him was the half of her body he buried, the dead eyes staring accusingly at him. His fault. The house stopped burning now, they were all dead, but he was still rooted to that same spot on the ground. Why couldn't he move? WHY?!_

_Then Kate was beside him, stroking his hair, like she usually would when they were in bed together. She was whispering in his ear about how stupid he was, about he trusted her, about how easy it was to carry out her evil plan. And then all of a sudden her hand was on his fly, pulling it down, her lips pushing insistently on his. And yet again, he knew what was going to happen, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Worst of all, he was probably going to enjoy it, like he had all those times before._

_But he couldn't do it with Kate, no, not Kate. STILES! What would Stiles think? He couldn't cheat on Stiles, Stiles was too precious, to dear to him for Derek to let this happen. But he couldn't stop it. Kate's hand was already pulling at his trousers, pushing him down onto the hard forest floor..._

_Then Kate was gone, but someone else was pinning him to the ground. His father. Dad! Dad was going to help him, dad always helped, but wait, why was he..._

_'Dad, please, no, dad!' Derek pleaded with the tall dark figure looming high above him a broad sword, just like Gerard's._

_'Dad, I'm sorry, please, please,' Derek was openly sobbing now, it didn't matter that his father would see him weak.'Dad!' Derek shouted one last time, before the sharp edge of the sword hit him right at the waist._

_And it all started over again._

'Please, please...' the werewolf begged, but his tormentors only seemed to be cheered on by his broken pleas.

'At least we know that the drugs are effective,' one of them said cheerfully and patted the other dark figure on the shoulder, as if to indicate that he did his job well. After all, coming up with drugs that work on werewolves isn't a mean feat.

'This? That's nothing. Remember, we're saving all the good stuff for later.' The both smirked

The last thing that was heard in the room before the two hunters left was another one of Derek's pained sobs.

* * *

Stiles was furious at Derek, that much was true, but the moment his dad decided to play the family card to avenge for Derek's wrongdoing, Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to stay from Derek for much longer. He was hurt, but he could only imagine how Derek felt. All these times Stiles blamed himself for his mother's death and he knew how heavily that sort of guilt hung over your head, and he had to do his best to not bolt out of the door and run straight to Derek's loft.

But he could at least give him a call. It's been three weeks since this mess started. They have both had a lot of time to think on what they said and did, and having a casual meeting over coffee – to determine where they were standing – couldn't do much harm, could it?

Stiles started rummaging through his bedsheets in search of his phone, but to no avail. He must have left it downstairs, when he came back from the mall with dad. He put on his chucks and a nice shirt, hoping that Derek would be able to meet him at once and ran downstairs.

He found his Dad leaning against the counter, a worried expression on his face. Stiles may not have werewolf senses, but hecould practically _smell_ that something was very wrong. Have the Vlados started their hunting season? Has someone got hurt already?

'Stiles, you're not going to like this,' his father started. Stiles' heart started beating faster, and his mind immediately jumped to an image of Derek smiling at him – they may have fallen out with each other but it still had a calming effect on Stiles, he couldn't help it. 'Derek Hale...your friend...someone just reported that his car has been abandoned in the parking lot in front of the mall. '

'Abandoned?! What the fu-...DAD?! He was...there, you saw him, he wouldn't...he...the hunters...oh fuck...' Stiles slid down onto the cold tiles decorating the floor. Derek wouldn't 'abandon' his car. He was Derek. He was right there. Something bad happened. It must have been the hunters. What if they hurt him. What if he was dead. Stiles couldn't breathe. He was familiar with the feeling – the fear of an imminent disaster approaching, the room suddenly becoming smaller, the inability to draw in air, the tremors – but it terrified him all the same. He didn't even say goodbye, Derek probably thought that Stiles hated him...And then his father's hands were on him, holding him close to his chest with his strong hands, murmuring nonsense in his ear, telling him to breathe, as he run his fingers through Stiles' spiky hair.

'We'll find him. And if we don't, Scott will. I'd like you t stay out of this but Stiles, I know you, Scott and your friends, you'll try to find him, and that means he'll be ok. But for now you need to breathe Stiles, just breathe.'

His dad was right. Scott could track them down, they had weapons of their own, supernatural powers, they've done this before. But he did need to breathe because if he ran out of air, that wouldn't do Derek any good.

So he breathed, and breathed.

'Thanks dad,' he whispered finally. Derek would be fine.

* * *

When Derek came round again it was still dark and quiet, but there seemed to be no respite from the agony in sight. The current was still running through him, causing his body to jerk every now and then. He couldn't even tell how exactly they were electrocuting him, because everything that the burning, gut-wrenching pain was a blur. He tried to piece some thoughts together, but his head refused to co-operate.

He lost count of time, but he was hoping that he didn't have much of it left on Earth. His confinement in the dark room seemed to have lasted forever and he would give a lot to at least know what the hell was going to happen to him. Surely, there were more fancy ways to kill a werewolf than this, and the Vlados would know about them.

Derek tried counting the seconds in his head, but to no avail. Every now and then the intensity of the current pushed through him would be increased, the blinding pain would wipe the count from his head and he'd have to start all over again. He tried measuring the intervals between the changes in current levels too, but they appeared to be completely random – quite a smart move, considering that the hunters probably wanted their victim to be disoriented as much as possible.

At some point he found out that at least his sense of smell was uninhibited. He did that the hard way, as he threw up whatever was still in his stomach. At first he almost chocked on the bile, but as he was able to breathe again, he regretted not taking the opportunity to end his life.

He would soon find out that there wouldn't be many in sight.

* * *

When the police ended the official search for Derek and presumed him dead, Stiles cried for the first time. It's been two weeks, so what? He, Scott and the rest of the pack weren't giving up, but just the knowledge that someone could give up on Derek, _on Derek!_ , seemed too cruel to be true.

The pack would keep searching, of course. Stiles was just scared of what they were going to find.

* * *

The first time they came into the cell was when Derek started openly sobbing. As soon as the door of the dark room opened, Derek's hearing returned, and he couldn't help but mentally berate himself for showing weakness. The sounds he was making were truly pitiful, but there was no way he could help it, any wolf would howl in this predicament. It wasn't just the pain, it was the humiliation, the inability to breathe caused by the stench of burnt flesh and all kinds of bodily fluids that finally broke him.

He would rather die than admit it, but after God-knows-how-long spent in solitude, darkness and silence, the presence of another human – proof of the fact that he hasn't gone mad yet – was disturbingly comforting.

'Come on princess, we haven't even started properly,' a tall dark-haired man said. 'But oh boy, did you make a mess here. You could at least appreciate our hospitality! You're even getting a special treatment, since we know what a rarity you are!' As he was speaking, a woman with long, red hair, wearing a leather jacket and holding something behind her back, circled the room and flicked on a few switches. When the blindfold came off his eyes, Derek realised that a few really bright lamps have been turned on, and they all seemed to be pointed at his tied up body. It turned out that he wasn't paralysed at all; his hands and legs were tied to the four corners of a metal, ominous-looking table by restraints that seemed easy to break, yet were not susceptible to his werewolf-stength. _I guess mountain ash and wolfsbane were involved then,_ he mused to himself thought the buzzing haze in his head.

'Now, _Derek..._ Why don't we have a little chat, huh?' the woman asked.

'F-f-uck off,' Derek managed to reply, albeit quietly. The two words were more of a croak than anything else, as Derek's abused throat wouldn't let him do much more.

Before his brain could register what was happening, another wave of agony ripped through his body, as the man procured a baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire, from somewhere in the room, and delivered a blow right to Derek's bare abdomen. The werewolf howled, there was no other word for it, he could feel the warm blood dripping down his side, he could hear the black-scarlet drops falling onto the cold table, and the metallic odour only added to the already-present stench in the room.

'Rule number one, Derek. The animal doesn't speak without humans' permission. Otherwise the animal suffers, understood?' this time it was the man who spoke, a note of pride in his voice.

Derek didn't reply. The bat struck again.

'Rule number two. When the animal is asked a question, the animal replies. Otherwise, the animal suffers. So, Derek, understood?'

The werewolf couldn't muster a vocal reply, not seconds after screaming his throat raw, but he nodded. If he was to protect the pack, he couldn't die, not just yet, and the more time he bought, the more time he'd have to help them.

'Good,' the woman whispered in his ear; had the circumstances been different he'd think that she was trying to seduce him. 'Now, onto Stiles,' she continued.

For a moment Derek was afraid that his heart was going to literally jump out of his chest. He would have trashed in his bindings, but showing that he cared too much was dangerous as well; they could try to use the boy against him after all.

'Your little puppy...Scott, isn't it? He's the alpha werewolf. Then there's the genius-banshee, another one of your puppies – Ian?'

'Isaac,' she was corrected by the other hunter.

'Whatever. Then we have a kitsune and a...hunter?. Quite a pack you got yourself there, Hale. There is one weird _thing_ in your group we can't quite identify, though. Your little boyfriend, Stiles. Or...I meant ex-boyfriend because from what we saw lately...oooh boy, he doesn't like you much, does he? So you might as well just tell us what he is now, and we'll let you die quickly.'

Derek swallowed. _Stiles. Human, defenceless Stiles. They were going to hurt Stiles!_ The wolf inside him howled desperately, Derek slumped in the bindings, feeling overwhelmed by hopelessness.

The man held the bat over Derek's already-bleeding stomach and directed his gaze at the woman, as if awaiting instructions.

'So, Derek? What's it going to be? What _is_ Stiles? A werewolf? Maybe you bit him with your filthy mouth! Or a banshee? Come on, tell us and this,' she gestured around the room, which Derek only now realised was full of all sorts of ominous-looking instruments '-will soon be over.'

Derek wasn't sure if there was a correct reply to the question, so he kept quiet for a moment, waiting for his brain to conjure up an adequate answer. If he says 'human', they most likely won't leave him alone anyway but if he says 'wolf' he'll be damning him for sure.

'Too late,' the woman whispered and turned around from him, facing the wall.

This time the bat struck two times and tears started anew in Derek's eyes. He was telling himself that he wasn't weak, that he could and _would_ withstand this. Crying was just the body's natural reaction to pain, there was nothing he could do about it and nothing to be ashamed of. Still, ahsamed he was.

The agony was unbearable, and the pain he thought he knew before seemed small and unimportant at that moment. He'd been hurt, but never like this. Burns and puncture wounds could heal easily but getting one's insides ripped out bit by bit, by a complete nutcase was a different story entirely. Actually...why wasn't he healing? His injuries should have got at least a little bit better, but neither the pain, nor the gore he saw as he weakly raised his head to look down, didn't feel or look any better.

'Oh, look, look at the little puppy,' the woman spoke in a mocking voice. She reminded him of Kate in a way, but even despite everything this woman did to him, he still couldn't hate her more than his ex-lover.

'This, puppy,' she addressed Derek, pointing at a drip in his arm which he hadn't seen before. 'This is something that we've been working on for a looong while. As you might have guessed it suppresses your healing powers, because...you know, just imagine how boring _this_ would be, if you could heal, right?' Her red hair fell into his eyes as she bent over him, as if to explain something to a small child.

He hasn't been this disgusted in a long time, especially by another person. Despite doing his best to avoid it, he threw up weakly again, not that there was much left in his stomach for him to expel.

'Hh-m-m-an,' Derek managed. 'He-ee is h-hum-man.'

'I,' said the woman, turning up the voltage on a machine in the corner of the room and eliciting a moan of pain from Derek.

'Dont,' she continued, turning the dial up some more.

'Believe you!'

 

Derek screamed again, but as the hunters turned off the lights and left the room seconds later, he was still repeating 'human' over and over.

* * *

After they moved him to the white room, the questions about the rest of the pack started.

The new room absolutely terrified Derek. He could hear, but he was constantly being bombarded by ultrasounds, drilling into his skull and making thinking impossible. _Everything_ was blindingly white so he tried to keep his eyes closed as much as he could; now the blood spilling from his various injuries was more visible too, as there was nothing there to hold up his head and whenever he opened his eyes, he saw the dark puddles on the ground beneath. The sight was a painful reminder of the fact that Derek had little time, that he would die without gaining Stiles' forgiveness, that he would most likely spill the pack's secrets eventually, because the hunters were getting more and more persuasive.

They dislocated both of Derek's shoulders when they brought him to the room for the first time. When they hung him from the ceiling by his arms the pull was so great that he could hear the bones and joints crack. The constant burning in his abused shoulders made it difficult to focus on leading them off the pack's trail – undoubtedly, it was just what they wanted.

But it wasn't enough. The thing that really made him babble were the drugs. Sometimes they just made him delirious, so he mostly cried for their enjoyment. Cried because of his family, because of Stiles...The tears streaming down his face were salty and made the cuts on his face burn, but at least he didn't have to speak, he could just sob and apologise and listen to his abusers' laughter.

But then they had other drugs too...Ones that burnt in his veins like actual fire or acid. _Maybe it is acid..._ Derek wondered sometimes. Then he couldn't think at all, not about anything other than how to make this stop.

'Come on puppy, it'll stop, you just have to tell us,' the red-haired woman said in a motherly tone, stroking Derek's cheek delicately whenever he was completely out of it and almost unconscious. He knew what they were trying to do, so he taught himself to repeat the safe answers to their questions over and over again.

Human, I don't know, Peter – my uncle, she didn't, human, I don't know, Peter, she didn't, human, I don't know, Peter...

* * *

 

 

On the full moon they whipped him.

They seemed to be surprised by the fact that he was still capable of controlling the shift, and as they said, they wanted to 'challenge him'. Then it wasn't just the woman and the man who always interrogated him. No, this time they brought friends; the roar of their laughter was even more deafening than usually and that night the cat o'nine was taken to his back and torso at the same time.

He didn't shift, but the white-hot agony made him imagine that he heard the sound of Stiles' Jeep in the distance.

* * *

 

They knew that the best time to come for Derek was on the full moon. The hunters wouldn't expect them to risk it on this special night, and they would have the advantage of being even stronger tonight.

Finding out their hiding place was like a bad horror-story – running from place to place and only coming across bodies of dead omegas and clues that kept leading them in a circle. But not tonight. Tonight they saw the lights burning in the house, they heard the sounds of music and laughter. Tonight they would save Derek.

_Or not_ , Stiles thought. They've had Derek for far too long, about a month, and he must have broken by now, which meant that he was no longer useful. Stiles' hands were sweating on the steering wheel and Scott already had  had  to remind him to breathe twice that night. The boy didn't want to raise his hopes up, he knew the chances that Derek was alive were slim, but the hunters needed to be dealt with anyway. Stiles was hoping that there at least would be a body that they could bury with proper honours.

Then they heard a howl, Scott's eyes widened and a small smile appeared on his face, only to disappear within a second.

'Ok guys, let's go over the plan one last time,' the alpha whispered and extended his claws.

* * *

 

All of a sudden they left, Derek didn't know why. Something beeped inside the redhead's pocket, and within a minute he was left on his own again, surrounded only by the ultrasounds, the stench of his own body and pain.  _So much pain_ .

It was the full moon, which meant they 've had him for a month. He  hoped that they would finally end it whenever the sharp, metal endings of the whip's tails'  buried themselves in his flesh . They've had him for a month, they had to know that if he hasn't given up yet, he wouldn't give up at all.

He let his head fall on his chest and rest there, as he was trying to block out the agony from his thoughts. As soon as he closed his eyes, th e ultrasounds disappeared and he could breathe more easily.  And hear.

Hear the sounds of fighting? Surely, those people weren't sick enough to consider fighting one another a sport, were they?

He strained all his senses to figure out what was going on outside the white door. A punch, a roar...there was blood there too, human blood... _Human, STILES!_ But no...he smelled Stiles, but he was...How could he smell Stiles? Stiles wasn't here, couldn't be here. He didn't forgive Derek, he would never come for him, he couldn't come for Derek...he was just human...

Scott was definitely there, roaring louder than his betas, cau s ing more serious wounds, looking out for everyone. Scott was the alpha. And Isaac, he could smell Isaac.

He was dead now, that was for sure.  Otherwise those he loved most right now wouldn't be with him. He was hoping that his friends weren't dead  too ,  but that they were just projections of his imagination.

Derek Hale was dead. He closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

 

He hit the floor. The pressure on his arms was gone, but he could still hear the fighting. Someone's fingers were on his cheeks, wiping away the tears and the blood, murmuring soft nonsense in his ear.

Derek whimpered. His back hurt, why were they touching his back and hurting him more?

'Sshh, you're okay,' a voice said in his ear. He trusted the voice, despite himself. It was probably another one of their tricks. But he was tired, so tired and in so much pain, it wouldn't hurt to just sit here with the voice for a moment, would it? 'That's it baby, just lean on me, it's okay.'

'Hum-m-man,' Derek whispered, just in case  the voice wanted to know about Stiles too.

'That's right,' the voice replied. 'Human, your stupid, tantrum-throwing human, right? But I'm here now, I've got you.'

His human? Derek didn't understand, until he opened his eyes and saw a shield. A blue, white and red shield, with a white star in the middle – Captain America's shield – on someone's shirt...Stiles' shirt! But he couldn't be here, it was dangerous, he couldn't.... There was blood on the shirt and Derek sobbed – Stiles was wounded because of him... _NO!_

But then he smelled it. Smelled it and was hit by a scent of the red-haired woman who tortured him. Did Stiles...Did Stiles kill her?

Derek tried to push the boy away, he had to move, to run –  this place was too dangerous for a human . Stiles only tightened his arms around Derek, eliciting a high-pitched whine from the werewolf's bettered body.

'Oh my God, I'm so so sorry,' Stiles stroked Derek's hair softly, hoping to lessen his suffering by offering the physical comfort. Despite himself, despite his ever-present need to appear strong, Derek nuzzled the boy ' s hand and tried to smile at him, let him know how grateful he was.

Then it happened, like a blur. The moment Derek realised the hunter who tortured him with the red-haired woman had a knife raised above his head and aimed at Stiles, he just reacted. Before Scott managed to take him down and run him through with his claws, the man thr ew the weapon right at the  boy . Derek felt like he gained inhuman strength all of a sudden, extracting himself from Stiles' grasp, pushing him down on the ground and shielding him  from the blow.

Stiles tried to shout at him to get out of the way, but it was too late. By the time the boy raised himself up from the floor, the half-conscious Derek was already standing on wobbly legs and pulling the blade from his side. Once it came free, the werewolf was on his knees again, crawling towards the dumbstruc k teenager and leaving a trail of black-tinted blood behind him.

' I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Derek kept repeating, looking Stiles straight in the eye. Wolfsbane. That was it, he was a goner, so Stiles needed to know how he really felt. 'I didn't mean to hurt you, but you know how I am, I'm sorry...'

The sounds of fighting grew quiet,  _the pack was safe_ , but breathing was getting more and more difficult. Stiles fell on his knees right next to Derek, holding his arms open to the werewolf, inviting him to take some comfort in his embrace.

'Stiles, we need to get him to Deaton,' Scott whispered, still unable to believe his eyes. Derek Hale – the strong, confident werewolf who helped Scott become the person he was today –  couldn't be  this hurt. He was supposed to be strong, to be safe,  not to be hurt .

By now, Derek managed to crawl into Stiles' lap and nuzzle his face into  the boy's stomach.  Tears sprang anew in his eyes as the adrenaline wore off and the pain hit with doubled force , cut upon cut, bruise upon bruise, the poison from earlier still  inside his veins , and the deep gash in his ribcage from when they tried to saw him open still throbbing.

'Hey,  S ourwolf, we need to go,' Stiles whispered into his ear, landing a chaste kiss on Derek's forehead. 'We'll fix you up, I promise, but you need to let them carry you, ok?'

In reply, Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles' waist and breathed in deeply, making sure that this  wa s all real, that it  wasn 't just another trick on the part of the hunters. He smelled macaroni with cheese, bacon, cookie dough and that  _terrible_ deodorant.  _That deodorant_ –  it had to be the real Stiles.

'Yeah,' Derek whispered, so quietly that only Stiles could hear him. 'Good, c-cause...I..t-trust you.' The werewolf only managed to see the small twitch of the corners of Stiles' lips and then he passed out.

* * *

 

'Human,' Derek choked out. He was laying on something soft but he was still in pain. His stomach, his stomach hurt, as if he was being tortured again. It must have all been just a dream. Of course they didn't come for him, why would they? Another stab of something hard, metallic and the sting of alcohol had Derek choking on a sob again. He was scared, so scared that he was going to give them what they want, betray the pack, betray Stiles.

'Hu-uman...I  t-told y-you ,' Derek  repeated, hoping that his tormentors  would  get bored of his babbling and leave him alone. He seemed to be out of luck.

The surface he was laid on dipped on the side, and someone's hands were on him again. What  suffering would they bring upon him  this time?

'Hey babe, you're home, it's fine,' someone said.  _Stiles._ 'They're all dead, I promise. I promise,' the voice continued.  _STILES!_ Only when a cold wet cloth was put on his forehead, did Derek realise  that he was burning up , probably as a result of the drugs they've pumped into him. The sharp object struck his abdomen again and he cried out in pain and surprise.

The someone caught his hand in theirs. Long, thin fingers wrapped around his and someone's – Stiles' – thumb was  rubbing circles soothingly on his palm.  _Stiles._ He had to apologise to Stiles.

'I'm s-sorry,' he croaked, his throat dry. The hand squeezed tighter and when Derek finally dared to open his eyes, he saw Stiles' face right above his, smiling at him. Before Derek knew what was happening, Stiles' lips were pressed against his, his eyes open and looking right into Derek's. Derek didn't even have the  strength to deepen the kiss, but he tried smiling at Stiles, letting him know  _anyhow_ how happy he was that the apology was  apparently accepted.  'I lov-,' Derek didn't get to finish, because as soon as Stiles  took a breath , he resumed  the kiss and all Derek could do was submit passively to his lover's ministrations and relish in his touch.

'Boys,' a voice came from the background. Stiles was so startled that he almost fell of f bed, but the presence of yet another person in the room caused Derek even more confusion. Once his field of vision was clear, Derek saw Scott, Isaac, Allison and Lydia standing quietly in the corner of the room, looking at him with so much worry, that he wasn't sure he wasn't going to die just because of the intensity of their gaze.

To his right stood Deaton, a needle and a bottle of a disinfectant in his hand.

'It's good to see that you're back in the land of the living,' he said. Stiles resumed sitting right next to Derek on the bed and was now running his thick, long fingers though the werewolf's hair. 'Sorry about this,' Deaton pointed at the needle he was holding. 'But you weren't healing on your own so we needed to make sure the wounds wouldn't get infected. How are you feeling?'

Derek tried to say 'ok' but the only thing he managed was a quiet groan. A glass was put to his lips immediately, and the vet held his head up so that he could sip some water without choking.

'Thank you,' Derek finally managed. The hunters gave him water, sure, but every time he was overcome by thirst and drank it, he could  _taste_ the poison in it, and this, this clear, mineral, untainted water was glorious.

'I've done all I could do while you were passed out, so for now  you just need to  let me finish this and  rest. A lot. You'll be able to heal eventually, we just have to wait for the chemicals to wear out.' The doctor patted Derek's shoulder, like he would a favourite nephew.

For the next half an hour Deaton continued patching Derek up, washing his injuries and stitching them up. The rest of the pack was curled up together on the sofa in silence, but Stiles didn't leave Derek's side for a second. At times Derek couldn't help out but let out a quiet moan of pain, but Stiles would just squeeze his hand a little bit, remind him that he was safe. Then he started telling Derek stories: about his childhood, about school, reminding him about all the great times they had together – anything to lessen the werewolf's agony.

When Deaton was done, Stiles held Derek up again  and let him have another drink of the precious water . No one said anything about it, but everyone saw how hard Stiles gripping his lover's arm. Derek may have been the one with the bruises, but he would probably never know how his misadventure affected Stiles. Of course he wouldn't know, the boy cared too much about him to even think about worrying him with his own problems.

'Thank you,' Derek whispered, this time to Stiles.

The pack finally started looking less worried and invigorated by the water, Derek pulled himself up on his elbow s and managed to give them a small wave and something resembling a smile.

'And tha nk  you, too,' he said and slumped right back against the soft sheets. Everyone treated it as a green light to go out and leave the werewolf alone with Stiles. The danger passed. They were safe for now.

'Stiles, I...' Derek started.

'Don't say it, you moron. You could have died! Again! Why did you...You didn't...you saved my life...' Stiles' voice broke, Now it was Derek's turn to offer comfort.

'But I didn't,' Derek raised his arm to Stiles' face and pulled his head down, so that the teen was resting against his chest. It hurt a bit, but it was Stiles, so it didn't really matter.

'But you don't know...' Stiles sobbed. 'You were out for a long while Derek. They were...out of town, we had to drive down and you... I killed someone, I killed her Derek, but she was...she w-was saying things about you...She hurt you so much...I couldn't- '

'Sshhh, it's fine. We're fine,  none of this is your fault, ' Derek whispered, still unable to believe that what he was saying was actually true. 'I got hurt but I hurt you too. And if...if all  _this_ means that I can have you back...I'd go through it all ten times over, just to have you here and now.' Derek took a deep breath, he was getting way too emotional.

'Wow,  S ourwolf making love confessions, that's pretty,' Stiles joke d and was punished by a poke in the side. 'But you're so  _hurt,_ Derek,' his voice broke again.

'You were hurt too, weren't you?'

'I...,' Stiles started but his lover wouldn't let him finish.

'Just...hold me for a bit?' Derek offered. Stiles slid a blanket over both of their bodies. He was about to turn off the lamp on the  nightstand but decided against it eventually, it would probably do them good to have this little bit of comfort while sleeping. 

The boy wrapped himself around his wolf, as if trying to shield him from danger and make him warm.

'I love you,' Stiles whispered before closing his eyes.

'I trust you,' Derek murmured. Stiles knew what it meant and didn't  suffer from  nightmares that night.

 

 


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words about the last chapter, everyone :) As suggested by Shannara810, here's a short epilogue to clarify the situation between Derek and the Sheriff from the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Stiles was a cruel human being. Some of Derek's wounds were still healing, but the boy didn't hesitate to kick him out of the loft, albeit playfully, to go shopping for Stiles' favourite ice-cream. He claimed he would have gone himself, of course, but he had a test to study for so the burden of satisfying his whims fell upon Derek's sore shoulders. The werewolf pretended to be upset, but they both knew that he needed fresh air after being locked up for weeks and that being occupied with something as simple as hunting for brownie and cookie dough-flovored ice-cream would keep his mind off all the hardships he's had to face recently.

And so there he was, rummaging through the freezer at the nearest Walmart, trying to block-out the unpleasant memories from his last shopping trip.

He found the brownie Ben&Jerry's, but the one where chocolate was _combined_ with cookie-dough was nowhere in sight. So he dug around some more. He walked all the way down the lane, carefully studying all the different flavours and brands lining the shelves, making sure that he didn't omit the important one. Once he got to the end, he saw it – the familiar blue container, decorated with white clouds and a drawing of a green pasture – brownie &cookie-dough, just what he's been looking for. It was his lucky day, because the box he spotted was the last one on the shelf.

The moment he grabbed the box, someone else put their hand on it as well, and Derek was about to tell them off – politely – for acting like a 5 year old. He turned around and opened his mouth to speak, when all air left his lungs and he stumbled backwards upon seeing Sheriff Stilinski looking at him with an unidentifiable expression on his face.

'S-sorry, you can have it,' Derek murmured and gripped the handle of his cart hard, wanting to get away as fast as possible. He could live happily without another discussion on the finer points of morality and on what a disappointment he was. And Stiles could surely live without the ice-cream.

'That little devil!' he heard in the background. His reason told him to leave it, to let the Sheriff say whatever he wanted to say about him and derive the apparent pleasure from it, but if _this_ – Stiles and him – was to work, maybe it would be better to talk this through now. Derek turned around.

'Pardon? I didn't quite get that,' he said politely, expecting another insult to come his way.

'Stiles, Stiles is the devil' the Sheriff replied. 'I mean...um, have you seen a mirror recently?' Ok, that sounded completely wrong. 'You're in no condition to run errands for him and he's happy to just...'apparently at loss for words, the Sheriff waved his hand as if to show Derek what he meant.

'He's studying,' Derek replied neutrally, keeping his voice polite and not overly defensive.

'Still...' the Sheriff murmured, obviously as uncomfortable about the situation as Derek was. 'So, um...you know...'

Derek raised his eyebrows a little, indicating that he didn't quite _know_. The Sheriff looked like he might flea from the crime scene any second.

'I'm sorry,' the man finally spit out. 'I was sorry the second I said it,' he continued and let out a loud breath. Both men knew what _it_ meant, Derek knew a little too well for comfort.

'Me too,' Derek replied despite himself. The Sheriff's face twisted in an expression of shame. Telling Derek off for his behaviour was one thing, lecturing him about family – something he himself didn't know that much about – was another. 'But Stiles...It was my fault,' Derek continued, hoping to make the Sheriff look less like frightened prey and more like an actual law-enforcement officer.

'Do you know how miserable Stiles was?' the Sheriff asked, a note of sadness in his voice. Now it was Derek's turn to flinch, remembering how terrible he felt about ever hurting the boy's feelings.

'Stiles and I talked about it. I know I should have listened to him, I...' Derek didn't get to finish, he was interrupted by the Sheriff.

'No, I meant when you were...you know, not...here,' the man explained awkwardly,  clearly trying to avoid bringing up  traumatizing events directly . 'It was much,  _much_ worse than how he was after you argued. I guess...I guess maybe I need ed to see that to understand some  _things..._ You're serious about him, aren't you?'

'Very,' Derek said quietly, worried that it may have been a trick question.

'Good, because so is he. About you, I mean,' the Sheriff tried smiling at Derek, but the expression on his face came off as more of a grimace.

The two men stood in awkward silence, staring at one another for a moment. Neither one of them wanted to walk away first, fearing that it may send the wrong message. All of a sudden Derek felt brave.

'Thank you, I'm glad you told me this' he said quietly, and with those few words, all tension suddenly bled from the space between them. The Sheriff took a tentative step towards Derek, as if trying hard not to startle him, but Derek wasn't really afraid. Not any more.

'And I'm glad you're all right, son,' the Sheriff's large hand delivered a strangely delicate, yet firm pat to Derek's back and embraced him in something of a half-hug. The man dropped the ice-cream into Derek's cart and after giving him one last smile, he was gone.

_Son_ , this week definitely started off really well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I didn't want to make it too cheesy, but I hope it wasn't too awkward and formal either - what do you think? I really appreciate any and all feedback, especially since I'm not sure if that's how I should have played out the scene :)

**Author's Note:**

> So? Terrible or just bad? Or maybe you enjoyed it? It would be awesome if you could let me know through a review; comments are love and encouragement, but constructive criticm is very welcome as well, so drop me a line or two below if you will :)


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